Into The Woods
by SlyFawkes
Summary: Gale Hawthorne's life Post Mockingjay and his long journey home.
1. Chapter 1

_War is like fire; People who do not lay down their arms will die by their arms –Sun Tzu, The Art of War_

"I remember my first reaping." I hear it everywhere I go. They swap their stories here with the same bravado of a soldier reminiscing about a battle he never fought. They even had a tradition of having their photo taken to honor the day. Some still proudly hang them on their walls though it's been two years since the Games and the Rebellion that officially ended them.

"I was set to go! If they hadn't pulled that Quarter Quell nonsense, I would have volunteered!" insisted the young man. He probably would have. He was tall, muscular, and had that generally malicious air that was typical of District Two victors. I slowly stepped out of the line, put the box of cookies back on the shelf, and left the shop empty handed. I crossed the town square and headed north. My eyes fixed on the mountain that loomed straight ahead. Everything about this place made my skin crawl.

I too remember my first reaping. Funny enough I don't remember being afraid. Nor does the fact that my name was already entered six times at the ripe old age of twelve menace my memory. What I remember most was the shirt I wore and the shame I felt. About three weeks before, my mother had bought material to make me a new shirt. She bought it with money she made doing laundry for the people in town, something she did when things were particularly tight. For months she had taken a coin here and there and hidden them from my father. It pains me now to think how excited I was about it. I had never had a new anything, let alone new clothing. Everything was got on trade at the Hob and had probably been worn by a dozen boys before me. I would run my fingertips over the cheap cotton material and swell with impending pride. I imagined myself standing with my head held high, no turned over cuffs to hide the fray, no mismatched buttons, and no patches two shades off. Every day after school I would come home and note the progress my mother made. I watched as she cut the fabric, following the lines of an old, brittle pattern that her mother had used before her. I would count the tiny uniform stiches. Suddenly I felt loved. Worse, for the first time I felt special. That is until four days before I was to actually wear it.

A sudden summer storm had come in from the south. Instead of going into the woods to check his traps as was his custom, my father came straight home from the mines. He stood in the door way, shaking off the rain. I remember the droplets had left uneven streaks of clean skin down his soot covered face.

"What is that?" my father asked, pointing at the shirt. My mother remained seated at the table, her hand steadily leaping then dipping as she sewed a button on the collar. "Hazelle! I asked you a question!"

I froze. My father was a man of few words. When he spoke, you listened. When he got angry, you desperately hoped it wasn't with you. I shot my brothers a look that said don't move. It was the best way to stay out of the line of fire. "It's a shirt," my mother replied, never looking up.

"I can see that, woman!" my father shouted.

"He needs a nice shirt for the reaping," my mother said. She still didn't look up but I could see her hands were starting to shake.

"A new shirt for the reaping?" my father asked. He asked in a manner that dares you to answer even though there is no answer that will suffice. Silence gathered from the four corners of the room, ready to explode. "So let me get this right. You took food out of our mouths for what? So that he'll look presentable before they slaughter him?"

His words rang in my ears. Slaughter. I imagined myself like one of the rabbits caught in my father's snares. The more they struggle, the tighter the wire around their neck tightens. Some of them nearly decapitate themselves trying to get free. But there is no getting free.

"I didn't see the harm in it, just this once," my mother said.

"Just this once." My father snickered. "And how fine he'll look. You can almost believe in a boy with a new shirt. A boy like that has a future, doesn't he Hazelle?" He wheeled around, turning his attention on me. "Don't you believe it, son. Not for a second. You will die at the hands of the Capital. Hunger Games, coal mines, same difference."

"Aedan, little pitchers, big ears!" my mother cried, nodding at Rory and Vick. "They're too young for such talk. You're scaring them."

My father reached across the table and yanked the shirt from my mother's hands. Three strides and he was at the hearth. He tossed it on the smoldering embers. My mother jumped to her feet with equal speed, retrieving a month's labor out of the ashes. She patted the burning hem between her fingers. I was staring at it so I didn't see his fist land. I had never seen my father hit my mother before. He never had as far as I knew. My mother was on the floor, my father towered over her. There was such a look of disgust in his eyes that I turned away. I heard his feet plod across the floor, then felt the damp breeze as he opened the door. Then he was gone.

The next morning I got up and ready for school just as I always did. I sat down at the table and my mother placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of me. I took one spoonful before my father grabbed it. We all watched as he scooped one half into Vick's bowl and the other into Rory's. "And what's Gale supposed to eat?" my mother asked.

"I don't know," my father replied, "let him eat the shirt. It's worth two weeks' of breakfast at least." I got up to leave. I hated it when my father got like that. My stomach was in tight little knots. All I wanted was to get out of there, but my father grabbed my arm and pulled me back into my chair. We all sat in silence. It takes forever, watching somebody else eat, forever and a day if you are hungry. To be honest, it wasn't so bad, that first day. I'd gone hungry before. The second day was harder. The smell of rabbit stew cooking made me salivate. At school, I stared at the kids from town with their lunches of fresh bread, cheese, and apples. I even thought of going through the trash as I had seen other Seam kids do. But even town kids rarely threw food away nor could I bear the thought of someone seeing me do it. By the third day, I wouldn't have cared, only there was no school. It was Reaping Day.

There were small mercies. My father let me stay in bed rather than make me get up only to watch them eat another meal I wasn't allowed. My mother gave me a bowl of warm water and a cloth to wash the grime from my face and hands instead of insisting on the customary bath. But there was that shirt, that hateful shirt. What made me happy just days before was now a constant reminder that I was nothing, expendable, already good as dead. If they didn't get me this time, they would get me the next, or the time after that. I could already see the years stretch out before me with nothing to do but wait for it to happen. I walked to town in a daze. I didn't cry. I didn't tremble. I didn't even hear the tributes being called to the stage. I just stood there, staring at the scorch mark on my right sleeve. At the time, I hated my father for making me go days without food. Later I came to understand why he did it. He wanted me to know in no uncertain terms just what the Hunger Games were really about.

I felt bad about the cookies though. It was Posy's birthday and I wanted to get her something to cheer her up. She had had a time of it. There was a lice outbreak at the school. It used to happen back in District Twelve every fall. For the boys and me, it was easy. I got a set of clippers and we shaved what little hair we had off. For my mom and Posy, it was a fine tooth comb and the foulest smelling concoction known to man. Lice are persistent little buggers and Posy was still crawling with them after three treatments. So we cut her hair short. Posy is a girl through and through. There's not a bit of tomboy about her. She loved her long hair. Big fat tears had rolled down her face as it hit the floor. It will grow back but it still hurt to see her cry. To top it off, she's had a slight fever for the last two days.

As I approached the bakery, I started to quicken my pace. Bakeries trigger dark memories. I can't even look at a loaf of bread without thinking about them. Them, because she is so intertwined with him that she no longer exists in the way I knew her. I was not a part of a pair nor am I likely to be any time soon. The girls here are so different. I suppose I could get passed that if I really liked one in particular but that didn't matter any way since I was so universally disliked in District Two. It didn't take long for word to spread that I was the one who devised the plan to bring down the Nut. It's no secret that I suggested we block the exits either. A lot of people lost loved ones that day. They blame me. The fact that they could have surrendered and joined the Rebellion long before I ever got there never crosses their minds. There were a couple of girls that flirted with me a bit. It was mainly because they thought I was rich since I had a government job. As soon as they realized I was supporting a family of five and wasn't paid all that much, they quickly lost interest. I really hadn't thought things through when I accepted the job. All I wanted at the time was to get as far from District Twelve as possible and still be able to support my family. I hadn't realized it would be more a punishment than an honor. Unfortunately my family took the brunt of it, Rory in particular. Kids are vicious at that age.

I was almost past the bakery when something in the window caught my eye. There sat a cake, iced white, with three very large, very pink roses of pure frosting. I grinned. Why hadn't I thought of it in the first place? A birthday cake, the first any Hawthorne would have, but one of many I hoped. I went inside, pointed at the cake, and asked how much. I hesitated since it seemed a lot for something that would be gone in minutes. But just the idea of seeing Posy's face, that dimpled smile so rare since we settled here, was enough to sway me. Besides, I was tired of thinking that way. District Twelve was behind us. Nothing said that more than wasting half a day's pay. I watched as the girl behind the counter placed it in a pink box and tied it with red string. For the first time in years, I was actually in a good mood.


	2. Chapter 2

Day dreaming, or to be more precise, grasping at straws, that was what I was doing when the Disease Control van sped down the street. The cake had gotten me thinking, thinking about other ways I could make it up to my family for moving them so far from home. Vick wanted a bicycle more than anything. I was pretty sure I could find a used one that wasn't too expensive. I could probably save enough by his birthday. Rory of course wanted the impossible. He wanted to go home. We rarely spoke anymore because of it. Nothing more than good morning and past the salt, that is. It was hard to believe that the little kid that used to beg me to take him hunting was now nearly grown. I had never taken him. I had meant to, many times, but hunting was the only time I could get away from it. It being the responsibility of looking after my family, that and the knowledge that no matter what I did, it would never be enough. Going into the woods was my only escape. Taking Rory along would've been taking a bit of that weight with me. And of course there was Katniss. It was hard enough trying to convince her that we could have had some kind of future when one of the reasons we couldn't was tagging along. Of course I fixed that all right. I had been fooling myself any way. Even if she had never volunteered for the Hunger Games, he would have made a move sooner or later. What did I have to offer her in comparison to Peeta with his steady and safe source of income and a home in town? Me? With my mom and siblings to feed and a low paying job that required me risking my life on a daily basis? What if Prim hadn't died? I know Katniss too well. She never would have left District Twelve. Outside of coal mining, being a soldier is the only thing I know how to do. She would have had to been crazy to pick me. That or a hopeless romantic and Katniss is neither. If I didn't love her to the point of physical pain I would have told her to forget about the loser from the Seam and marry the baker. Survival, I expected no less from her.

Katniss was in the past any way. Rory was not. I hadn't made enough of an effort with him. I could have taken him hunting here. Done something just to let him know I understood what he was going through. I was going through it too. That was the problem. I was preoccupied with work and my own pain and I simply didn't know how to ease his. I missed District Twelve more than I thought possible. Funny, since I loathed it every second when I actually lived there. Well not every second. I loved the woods. That's what I miss. I would probably miss more about home if it didn't remind me of the misery the Capital wrought on all our lives. Never the less, I couldn't blame Rory for being angry and I wasn't helping. I silently resolved to do better. I was contemplating just how when I rounded the corner and saw the van parked in front of my house. That old familiar sense of impending doom returned. I started up the path but an official from Disease Control blocked my way. I watched them nail a quarantine sign on the door, a bright red T for typhus. It's silly how you act when confronted with the unthinkable. I knew exactly what was happening and I had a pretty good idea how it would end. But I couldn't help myself. "What's going on?" I asked.

"Typhus. You need to step back sir," he replied. I had a good three inches over him. He was slightly heavier but looked to be more flab than muscle. I started to push past him but he shoved me back. He was stronger than he looked. Though I ached to do so, punching him wouldn't have improved the situation any. I decided on another tactic.

"You don't understand! That's my house! My family is in there!" I cried. He immediately backed away. Typhus was not a fun way to die, not that there's really a fun way to die. He signaled the man in charge, who came forward and looked at me expectantly.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Look, I'm Gale Hawthorne and that's my house," I said and pointed at the door. If there was a time to throw my name around it was now. The two of them exchanged glances and looked back at me with cold hatred. I didn't care. "I need to get inside."

"Have you been experiencing any symptoms? Chills? A rash?" he asked. He was an older man, with the sort of imperious manner that suggested he had spent his entire life in some low level government job. He relished every bit of authority afforded him.

"What does that matter? I live there. That means I've been exposed, doesn't it?" I replied. I stared back at him. I was getting into that house one way or another. Spilling his blood to do so would mean next to nothing to me.

"If you go in, you can't come back out."

"I understand that," I said.

"Okay then," he said and started walking me to the door. "No one and I mean no one but medical personnel is allowed inside. Food supplies will be dropped off in a couple of days. Wait until the delivery man has left before you open the door to get them."

I stepped inside and heard the door shut behind me. I turned and saw my mother. The light that spilled from the room she shared with Posy bathed her face in a warm glow. The deep lines and hard edges of a difficult life were softened. Only her eyes told the truth, five children, one dead on arrival, and a husband lost to the mines. She'd had enough pain for twenty lives. This shouldn't be happening. Things were supposed to be better now. Otherwise, what was the point?

"Gale," she gasped and then the tears began. I went to her and hugged her. My mother is one of the strongest people I know. She's had to be. She never lingered on our misfortunes. You have to be strong, if not for yourself, then for the ones you love. She has always taught me not to dwell on the pain of the past but to focus on what I could actually do. Sadly, more often than not, I lack her conviction. Seeing her given into her tears was nearly more than I could take.

"It will be okay," I said. "We'll get her medicine. It will be okay." But even as I was saying it, I knew it was a lie. I had seen the reports myself just today. The disease was already rampant in Districts Three and Eight. Medicine was being rationed. We were at a bottom of a very long list. My position would be no help here. There was still a lot of animosity towards the Districts that were favored by the old regime. The New Capital was bending over backwards to prove there was no longer any favoritism. Once again I found myself unable to protect the ones I loved the most.

"What's that?" my mom asked as she pointed at the pink box in my hand. I had forgotten I was even holding it.

"Nothing," I replied. "Why don't you go and sleep in my room? I'll stay up with her tonight. I promise I'll get you if she gets worse."

Finally after a lot of convincing, my mother trudged down the hall to my room. I watched her shut the door and then went in to check on Posy. There were so many blankets piled on her that I could barely make out her tiny frame. Her face was flush with fever. I sat on the edge of her bed and put my hand to her forehead. Hot. She opened her eyes and gave me a weak smile.

"Hey Pest, how's it feel to be seven?" I asked.

"Not very good," she said in all earnestness.

"Well it gets better. Honest," I replied, crossing my heart.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing at the bakery box. I smiled. At least she wasn't so sick that she didn't notice a rare and special parcel in her midst and on her birthday no less.

"What's what?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"That!"

"Oh this," I said and held up the box. I gave her a conspiratorial grin. "Should we open it and see?"

Posy nodded vigorously. Even with her eyes bright with fever, I knew she was excited by the idea of a treat. I took out my knife and cut the string. Very slowly and very carefully, I lifted the lid. She let out a little gasp, her mouth forming a perfect little O. "Is it mine?" she asked.

"All yours. You want some?" I asked.

"Not yet," she replied, shaking her head. "Can we put it on my table so I can look at it?"

"Absolutely," I said. I moved the lamp to the side and placed the box on the nightstand.

"It's so pretty," she whispered, her eyes transfixed.

"Okay, it's time for you to get some rest," I said, pulling a blanket up to her chin.

"Oh tell me a story. Please!" she begged. "It's my birthday and you promised."

"I got you a cake! Isn't that much better than a story?" I asked.

"Both are better," she insisted. As if I could deny her anything.

"Alright, but just one, and then you have to go to sleep," I said. I sat back and pretended I was trying to remember a tale I had heard long ago even though I usually just made it up off the top of my head. "Once upon a time, there was a princess named Posy."

"Like me," she said as she settled back into her nest of blankets.

"Yes, a lot like you. And she decided that there should be a national holiday celebrating the color pink. There were weeks and weeks of preparations for the day. They painted all the streets and all the buildings pink. Every pink flower imaginable was planted in giant pink pots. The trees were strung with pink lights."

"That would be so pretty."

"It was. A large pink tent was built in the town square and inside, only pink food was served."

"What about chocolate?" she asked. Posy had never had chocolate but she had heard about it and unfortunately it had taken on mythical powers in her mind. It made everything better. Why else would other kids brag about having had some?

"There was pink chocolate made with the very rare pink chocolate bean," I replied.

"There's no pink chocolate beans!" she cried. Doubt danced across her face.

"There are and this is my story so let me tell it," I said. I paused for a moment to wipe away a bit of sweat that had collected on her brow. "All the animals were dyed pink and all the people too."

"Like the green lady?"

"Just like that. Even Princess Posy's icky brothers where dyed pink only they came out looking a bit more like purple."

"Purple's nice. Then what happened?" she asked. She could ask questions all night if I let her, urging me to continue building her elaborate dream world where all things were pretty and all people were kind.

"Well they ate all the pink food, especially the chocolate, and listened to music played on pink instruments. And at midnight, Princess Posy climbed onto her pink pony and rode back to her palace where she then climbed into her pink bed and had very pink dreams. The end."

"That was a good story," Posy said, smiling appreciatively.

"Okay. Sleep," I ordered and bent down to kiss her damp forehead. Thankfully she closed her eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

I stretched across my mother's bed and stared at the ceiling. There was a small crack that started at the upper right corner and ran three inches towards the center. Another thing I needed to fix. The pillow smelled of my mother, soap, wood smoke, and the slightest hint of lavender. I wondered what my sheets smell of, regret perhaps. I rolled over and watched the gentle rise and fall of Posy's breath. Seven years old…could it really have been only seven years ago? It seemed a life time. What happened to that boy who helped bring her into the world? I suppose whatever is left of him resides in the pink dreams of his little sister.

Most of that year escapes me, vague images and feelings I've long since buried. There was before and there was after. We had always just barely scraped by but I had never really understood how precarious our existence was until my father was gone. He had worked long hours and made next to nothing for his troubles but his earnings were the difference between extreme poverty and death. It's a slim margin too be sure. It was no longer my mother doing without thread for mending to pay for an already worn out pair of shoes or going without bread for a week to have enough to get something for Vick's cough. It was do we eat today or wait till tomorrow. Even with my snares, there were days without. I didn't always get a good haul and there was so much we needed. I went to bed each night scared of what the next day would bring, knowing that if I failed everyone was going to die.

That was the world Posy came into on a cold night just one week after my father had gotten blown to bits in the mines. My mom was so swollen with looming life that it was left to me to wait outside the mine for word. It was a cold night then too. Half the Seam was there. I don't remember any face in particular just the dazed expressions. Maybe it wasn't dazed. Resignation mingled with desperation was more like it. Katniss had been there but I barely knew her then. I probably wouldn't have cared any way. I had my own troubles. When the last man emerged around dawn and the worst fears were confirmed, I had headed home. Only I didn't go straight there. I weaved through the narrow alleys, a soot stained maze that made up the backside of the Seam. All the tiny houses seemed to slump towards the ground, as if they too knew the loss. I was trying to figure out how to tell my mom. Of course I had wanted to soften the blow, to somehow make it not as bad as it clearly was. I think I even had some sort of speech prepared. When I finally got there, I just blurted it out.

"He's dead."

It hung there, an insurmountable chasm between my childhood and what I was to become. My mother collapsed on the floor. A sort of inhuman wail escaped her lips. Sort of like a rabbit. Rabbits scream. It's high pitched, almost like a child, just as haunting. Once you've heard it, you'll never forget it. It reaches down to some visceral part of you and rips it up to your throat. She took to her bed for two days. Then she got up and acted like everything was normal. We went to the Justice building where I got a stupid medal. And that was it. We didn't talk about him. We didn't openly morn him. It wasn't that we didn't love him. We did, even if he could sometimes be hard. It was just that we needed everything we had to focus on survival. Still, I envied Katniss' mother. Whenever she complained about how her mother had behaved, I held my tongue. I would have sat in a chair staring at nothing too, if given a chance. My mother wouldn't let me nor did I let her. It's not as if the loss wasn't still there, lurking like an uninvited guest in the corner of the room. He was dead. My father was dead.

That's how I found myself one week later, wrestling death with one hand and life with the other. Throughout my life, through the reapings, the firebombing of District Twelve, even the Rebellion itself, I was never as scared as I was that night. There was no money, not for a midwife let alone a doctor. "You can do this Gale," my mother had insisted.

I knew I couldn't. I had just turned fourteen. Yet it was much more than witnessing something that was so intimate and adult. It wasn't as simple as snaring rabbits. It was the idea that if I made a mistake the whole world could end. The baby could die. My mother could bleed to death. It happened all the time in the Seam. Then where would we have been? She had been in labor most of the day. I had skipped school and spent it checking my snares, selling the measly two rabbits to the butcher, and trading at the Hob. Now she wanted me to do something that was beyond me. I was already exhausted. I broke down and started to cry.

"Don't you dare," my mother had snapped, "Don't you dare start crying! I can't afford a weak son!"

Ashamed, I ran from the room. Rory and Vick where seated by the fire, sucking on pieces of stale drop biscuits I had softened by dipping them in tea. "When are we going to eat?" Rory asked.

"What do you think you are doing now?" I asked in return. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and stared down at him.

"I want real food," he whined.

"Real food huh? Well you ate all the real food yesterday, didn't you? You didn't see me eating any of it either. So why don't you shut up!" I shouted. I had immediately regretted losing my temper. Rory's eyes filled with tears. It wasn't his fault. I was hungry too. I had had to spend the money on things my mother requested. She needed them for when the baby came. There wasn't enough money left to buy bread or milk. "I'm sorry. I promise, tomorrow we'll have a proper meal."

The truth was I still hadn't gotten used to being the adult in the room. Sure, I'd looked after my brothers all the time, but it was different. My mother dried the tears. My father handed out the discipline. All I had to do is make sure they didn't wander off or break something. Now they were looking to me to make things better and I couldn't.

"Gale!" my mother screamed. I slowly entered the bedroom. There was just one but it was separated by a sheet thrown over a rope that transversed the length of the room. My mother slept on one mattress on one side, my brothers and I on a mattress on the other. She was sort of half lying down and half hunched over. Her coal black hair was plastered against her head. Her thin night gown was soaked through with sweat. She was panting like a mad dog. I wasn't allowed to see Rory or Vick being born, but I had heard it, and what I had heard frightened me. Being older hadn't changed my view any. Seeing her like that made it ten times worse. "I don't know what you're carrying on for. I'm the one that does all the work. Get over here, damn it!"

She let out a muffled scream. I watched as her belly rippled with a contraction. My heart dropped. I couldn't stand to see her like that, in pain, desperate, and helpless. And what was I doing? Standing there like a useless fool. "What do I do?" I asked.

"Put a pot of water on the fire. When it's boiling, drop the scissors in and let it boil for five minutes. Bring me the string and a clean blanket. And bring me that bottle of liquor your dad kept hidden outside by the coal bin.

I did as I was told. It was actually good to have something to do. I focused on the task at hand instead of all the possible things that could go wrong. I put the pot of water on and looked over at Rory and Vick. Their eyes were large and full of fear. "You better start thinking of names," I said.

"For what?" Vick asked.

"The baby, you dope," I replied. "Whoever comes up with the one mom picks gets an extra helping of stew tomorrow."

"Is it a boy or girl?" Rory asked.

"Don't know yet so think of one for both," I said.

I slipped into the night. There was no moon so I could barely see my breath wisp up in the cold air. I inched around the house. There was a small gap between the foundation and the nearly empty coal bin. I bent down and pulled the bottle out. My father didn't drink a lot. We couldn't afford it but I had seen him drunk a couple of times. He would start out funny, joking and singing. Then he would get affectionate which was strange because he wasn't like that normally. It always ended with him crying and my mother putting him to bed. I can still hear him saying "What have we done" over and over again. Without giving it a second thought, I uncorked the bottle and took a swallow. It tasted foul but the burn was kind of nice. The idea of going back inside was less worrisome. Maybe I could do this. I took another swig.

Posy came into the world an hour before dawn. My mom indeed did most of the work. I caught her and placed her on my mother's chest. I knotted the string around her umbilical cord and then cut it. I did get scared. Her head was so misshapen that I thought she was deformed. My mother laughed and said they all came out looking like that. She was so tiny. Her little hands grasped at the air, looking for somebody, somebody to protect her, somebody to love her. I love my brothers but Posy is special. Maybe it's because I feel like a little part of her is mine. When the boys were really little I was disinterested at best and annoyed most of the time. Everything, from her first steps, first words, to first time she tasted a blackberry, it meant something. They were tiny little miracles in a world where such things didn't exist. Her demands are so simple. She's the only one that was always glad when I came home, even if it's empty handed. Tiny little miracles.

Vick won. He got extra rabbit stew for his efforts.


	4. Chapter 4

Posy is dead. I keep trying to wrap my mind around it but I can't. She lasted five days. Each day she got progressively worse. A nurse would come, take her temperature, make a note on her clipboard, and shake her head. No medicine today, maybe tomorrow, only it was the same thing the next day, and the day after that. I helplessly stood by and watched her tiny body deteriorate. She would violently shake with chills. She couldn't keep anything down, not even water. Her fever would spike. My mother would wipe her down with a cool wet rag and then wrap her in a blanket. She would then rock her like she was an infant, singing softly in her ear. I had some vague recollection of when I was little and sick and that my mother had done the same. Two days after Posy, Rory got sick, the next day Vick. My mother and I soon followed.

Sick as we were, my mom and I still took turns looking after the kids. Sleep was fitful any way. Fever always brought me dreams. The only dreams I have now are nightmares. I have downed more than my fair share of sleeping syrup these last couple of years, but none for the duration since I needed to be able to relieve my mother. So the nightmares come. Sometimes it was Finnick and the lizard mutts with their beady unblinking eyes. Sometimes it was Mitchell, entangled in a barbed snare, the wave of black tar bearing down on us. Sometimes it's my unspeakable time in Capital custody.

More often than not, it's the firebombing of District Twelve. It starts the same way every time. We are watching the Quarter Quell. Johanna Mason has just bashed Katniss in the head. I am certain that I am about to see the one person I love most in the whole world die. Bile rises to my throat. But then Mason takes off. My heart leaps when I see Katniss get to her feet, draw her bow. Then the world goes black. My mother lights the oil lamp. We look at each other, unspoken questions hanging between us in an unearthly silence. And then the low hum. Not the sound of a hovercraft but the sound of many. I immediately jump up, I shout to my mother. "We have to get out!"

We make it to the meadow just as the first wave hits. The Justice Building bursts into flames. I think of the Seam, how every bit of it is saturated in coal dust. I have to pry my mother's fingers from my arm. I race back to the Seam. I rouse Prima and her mother and lead them towards my waiting family. I race back again and I bang on door after door, shouting "Go to the Meadow!"

There are so many people. Wave after wave comes, bombs falling, the sound of wood and plaster splintering just from an impact blocks away. The sound of the explosions themselves is so familiar to anyone who was around five years ago. The noxious fumes from the accelerant mingle with something far more sickening, the smell of roasted human flesh. Sweet, a bit like pork. We were all starving due to the crackdown. It was sheer horror that kept me from salivating. Then poor Daisy McCraken, same age as me, the second girl I ever kissed. She had lovely chestnut curls, a rosy complexion, only her eyes betrayed her Seam heritage. She had married right out of school. She was already expecting. She runs towards me. A floating ember lands on her shoulder. Her hair ignites. She keeps running, screaming, flames trailing behind her. I keep shouting at her to drop to the ground and roll around. But she just keeps racing towards me, her eyes filled with terror, incoherent pleas spilling from her mouth. A flash. Another hit. Too close now. And Daisy McCraken is engulfed, her mouth, the mouth I kissed, forever agape in unimaginable agony.

I always wake up then, with Daisy McCraken's face seared into my mind for the rest of the night. I remember. I did that to Prim.

I wish I could say that I was there for Posy's last moments. I wish I could say that I held her hand and that she left the world in a peaceful way. But I can't. I wasn't there. I was in my room, shivering, half awake, and totally unable to hold a clear thought in my head. It was my mother's scream that roused me. I staggered to their room. There lay Posy, her tiny body just spent, her eyes staring out into nothing. All that love and joy lost forever.

"What's happened?" Rory asked, standing in the doorway. His face was flushed. He looked like a light breeze would topple him. I couldn't find the words. Instead I bent down and closed Posy's eyes. My mother began to wail. I tried to lead her to her own bed. She pounded me with impotent fists.

"We should have gone home," she screamed. "This wouldn't have happened if we had gone home!"

She was mad with fever and grief, but still her words cut deep. Hadn't I done everything within my power to feed them, clothe them, and protect them? Hadn't I always put them first? Only one decision in my entire life have I made without someone else in mind. I couldn't go back. I would have been a daily reminder of her loss. I couldn't do it. I couldn't spend the rest of my life seeing her hate and disgust for me writ across her face. Her good opinion was the only opinion that mattered. Now it was lost, lost forever. Going back to District Twelve was a fate worse than death. And seeing how my death would leave four hungry mouths behind, even that was an option denied me. Was it so selfish, that after losing the one comfort my life had afforded me, to move as far from that loss as possible? My mother and Katniss are so alike, always demanding that I hold my hand in the open flame and then rebuking me when I flinch. I was sick, tired, and overwhelmed by grief myself. I got angry, raised my voice, said things I shouldn't have.

"There's nothing there! They burned the whole thing down, or did you forget?" I asked.

"People went back! They're rebuilding! We could have gone back!"

"Why didn't you then?" I asked. "I didn't force you to come here. I'll tell you why. You were afraid to do it alone. "

"I've been doing it alone most of my life!" my mother cried.

"Not once! Not once during all the reapings, all my entries," I shouted. I staggered a bit and leaned against the wall. "It was always, 'I don't know how we'll manage Gale. I don't know how we'll survive.' Not once did you say 'I'd be heartbroken Gale. I'd miss you Gale.' Not one single time. Did you ever care about me or was it just my ability to take out tesserae for the rest of you?"

She slapped me with such force that my head bounced off the wall. I stared back at her in shock. "Get out. I can't stand to look at you."

I looked over at the doorway. Rory was still standing there. He had seen it all. He was crying but his eyes burned not only with tears but hate, hate for me. I pushed past him and stumbled back to my room, collapsing on my bed. The room was spinning. A shudder passed through me. I had never lost my temper with my mother, ever. It was so cruel. I can't believe I said it. But I had said it and now I couldn't take it back. There was Posy getting colder by the second. I knew she was heartbroken. I was heartbroken. I should have tried to comfort her, instead I lashed out. I don't even know where it came from. I would have done it, even if she hadn't reminded me every time. I know that if she could have, she would have done it herself. I know how she must have felt. I had felt it myself when Rory had to make that trek to the Justice Building. I had never blamed her. I always knew whose fault it was. It was the Capital. Every misery in our life led back to the same people. I must have felt it though in some dark black part of my heart. I had wanted to hurt her for making me feel guilty, for making me feel like a coward and a failure. I always had harbored a little bit of resentment. I had once figured out that if I didn't die in the mines, I would be thirty-two before I could ever consider having a future of my own. That's how old I would be when Posy turned eighteen. Only now that day would never come, and because of me. Another young life cut short by Gale Hawthorne.

I wanted to cry more than anything, but I couldn't. Maybe I really was as Katniss thought. I reached between the mattress, pulled out the bottle of sleeping syrup and downed half. Perhaps the Typhus will kill me. I was supposed to die. I should have been reaped. I had more entries than practically every eligible person in District Twelve. It was inconceivable that I hadn't been. I should have died during the Rebellion. I had planned on it. I had taken every risky assignment I could. I felt cheated. If I had died, I never would have had to know what happened that day in the City Circle. Everything would still have been possible. Posy would be alive and safe in District Twelve, if only I had been reaped or had died during the firebombing. Everyone, my family most of all, would have been infinitely happier and safer if I had had the good sense to stay in that tunnel with Finnick Odair. Sleep finally came. Medicine arrived three days later.

In early summer Rory, Vick, and my mother boarded a train for District Twelve. It wasn't hard to arrange since outside of Thirteen, it was still the least desirable and therefore lowest populated district. Because we were from there, housing and a job for my mother were easy to come by as well. I promised to send her most of my pay each month. What was I going to spend it on any way? My mother and I didn't speak about our argument. I had made attempts to apologize but every time I started to, the words would come out wrong. I kept trying to find the right words but it was useless. What I had said was unforgiveable. It was easier to talk about the essentials, just like we always did. Rory didn't speak to me at all. Every look held his barely contained contempt. He despised me. I watched the train pull out of the station and with it, my last connection to my old life. I knew I would never see them again. It wasn't until I went home and looked at the empty rooms that I noticed the cake. The white icing had dried out and cracked. The pink roses were edged with mold.


	5. Chapter 5

"Sandwich?"

I turned from the window and its rolling landscape and saw a slightly overweight teenage girl staring down at me with an expression of abject boredom. "Huh?"

"You want a sandwich?" she asked again, this time she punctuated it with a sigh. "I also got sweet and savory pies. There are hardboiled eggs too."

I looked down at the cart she was pointing at and took in the offer. The food looked about as appetizing as licking an andiron. "No thanks," I replied.

"Want tea or coffee?" she asked, shifting her weight from one hip to the other.

"Anything stronger?" I asked. I frequently travel by train, between District Two and the Capital mostly, though I sometimes have occasion to travel elsewhere, usually for training seminars or lectures on how to implement new laws. Travel by hovercraft is strictly for high ranking officials. The rest of us travel by train, all of which are extremely shabby after years of use and smell faintly of cheese. The upside is there are enterprising young ladies that sell liquor to the weary traveler. The girl looked at me as if for the first time. My uniform gave her pause. "Ah come on. I want a drink, not to arrest you."

She pushed a lank strand of blonde hair behind her ear and reached under her cart. She held up a bottle of clear liquid. "How much you want?"

"The whole thing," I said. Alcohol was legal in all the districts but they had started to control who could make it and how much. You had to have a government issued license to make alcohol to sell. You could make a small amount for personal use without one. Frankly I had better things to do than track down bootleggers. Granted I knew who they were since I bought their wares, but as I didn't see the point in punishing someone for trying to make a decent living, I was less than inclined to pursue it any way. As long as they had the sense to keep it under the table, what did I care? Licensed liquor was too expensive, especially since they placed a tariff on it. If you ask me all of it is just a way for the government to make money. It seems you need a license to do just about everything nowadays.

"Really?" she asked not bothering to hide her surprise.

"Long trip."

"Where are you going?" she asked, taking the handful of coins I handed her.

"The end of the line," I replied. She handed me the bottle, gave me a nod, and returned to pushing her cart down the aisle.

It was the end of the line and in more ways than one. It had been over eight years since the Rebellion. Paylor had decided to step down and Panem had held its first national election. Every man and woman over the age of eighteen in all thirteen districts was allowed to vote. It had been surprisingly peaceful. I had monitored all the polling places in District Two. Thumb print and retinal scan, cast your vote. Easy as that. There had been three candidates, each of which had had to get the endorsement of the Governor and one Senator of their own state as well as two more endorsements from other districts. There was Aurora Scott from District Two. She wasn't my choice but she wouldn't have been a bad choice either. I had worked under her in Two. I had always known her to be fair and she used common sense when approaching a problem. But she lacked any sort of sentimentality. Besides I could never trust someone that grew up in District Two. Then there was Cull Miller from District Eleven. He was older, not a great speaker, but I trusted his plain spoken upfront manner. He also knew firsthand how the outlying districts had suffered during the old regime. I voted for him. Finally there was Jaspar Smith from District One. He was slick, a smiling preening jackass. They showed him on TV, visiting various districts, clutching the hands of the downtrodden, dabbing a handkerchief to the corner of his eye. He reminded me of…a younger Ceasar Flickman without the bad suit and bizarre dye job. Of course, he won.

So Paylor was out and Smith was in and he was cleaning house. I wasn't fired, exactly. I was simply stripped of my clearance and sent to the far reaches of Panem. They had wanted to send me back to Twelve, to train locals to comprise the new ten percent quota of district born peacekeepers. I fought it tooth and nail and called in all my favors. The best I could manage was District Seven. It was probably for the best any way. I'm not good at politics. I don't have that knack for talking to complete idiots like I think what they have to say is even remotely relevant. I'll be the first to admit I get impatient with the myriad of ineffective laws that have come to pass in the last few years. Plus I manage to step on people's toes without even meaning to and then there's the fact that I tend to go places and hang out with people that the powers that be frown upon…so there you go. My pride wasn't so bruised, not as much as my pay any way. I was going to make one third less than I had been. At least Rory and Vick were grown and could take care of themselves. I could still send my mom a little something every month. They were all happy back in District Twelve. The Capital had built some kind of factory there. My mom had a good job. They had a nice place to live or at least far better than we had before. I hadn't seen them in six years but I received letters every few months and my mom always called me on New Year's Day. She was very careful not to mention anything that would dredge up the past. It didn't leave much to talk about outside of the weather or how the boys were doing in school. Now they both had jobs. It wouldn't be long till they got married and had families of their own. I think that's what keeps my mother going.

It was hard at first. I hadn't counted on how lonely I would be. It was the quiet that really got to me. It was kind of funny because one of the things I loved most about going into the woods back home was how it was the only place I could hear myself think. There was always a lot of activity at the Hawthorne's. I missed the boys arguing over who got a bigger slice of bread. I missed the sound of my mother humming while she did the wash. Most of all I missed Posy's chatter. I eventually got used to it. I was so used to it that I wasn't sure I could stand living with another person again. I'm pretty set in my ways. Now I was off to District Seven. Another fresh start. I no longer had faith in fresh starts but it couldn't be much worse than District Two. It was mostly forest, as close to home as I could hope for really.

I uncorked the bottle and took a deep gulp, enjoyed the burn. The train slowed as it made its way down a sharp incline. We were leaving the mountainous region. I was glad to be out of District Two. I had never really liked it there. It wasn't just my natural prejudice towards a people that helped prop up the Capital for so long either. I actually grew fond of some them. Most were just trying to get by, just like back home. Still, some of the things I saw there made me wonder if winning the war was really worth it. I had grown up knowing that the Capital was evil but once its vice like grip on the districts was broken, people began to create their own brand of misery. Crimes unheard of before the Rebellion were now common place, and not just in District Two. It was the same in all the highly populated districts. It was so easy when there was a clear enemy. I can't tell you how many times I had seen a broken and bruised child or found the body of a young girl in a back alley. Theft was rampant. Now with the old Capital gone, we had turned on each other. Most were good and decent but they distrust peacekeepers. And why shouldn't they? All I have to do is catch a glimpse my back in a mirror and I remember what those that uphold the law can do. I never trusted a peacekeeper, even Darius, who I genuinely liked. Knowing what it cost him, trying to spare me from Thread burns my conscience but I never would have trusted him outright. Weariness with a healthy bit of suspicion was what kept the majority of Panem alive for seventy-five years. Who was I to expect them to trust me? I didn't trust them.

I don't trust anyone. Outside of my mother, I've trusted two people in my entire life, Katniss and Coin. They both betrayed me in some fashion or another. Twice burned, three times the fool. Odd that it was for the same reasons. Katniss had just wanted me gone, long before the Rebellion and Prim. I had taught her all she cared to know. I was no longer necessary to her survival. Apparently my very existence threatened hers and Peeta's since Snow used threats against me to manipulate her. And of course there's the fact that I had failed to adjust my feeling to her liking. As if I could turn them off like faucet. Katniss could do that, not me. We weren't as alike as she wanted to believe. She could always rise above what the Capital inflicted on District 12. She barely acknowledged it. That is until Prim got reaped. And everything changed. Once she returned from the games I rarely saw anything but guilt and loathing in her eyes. It was like a knife to my heart. Even when he wasn't around, he would always stand between us. It wasn't just base jealously. I had lost my one and only friend, someone I could share more with than a nod hello and the occasional joke. I knew instantly that it would never be like that again. She may have been blind to how I felt but nobody else was. Certainly not Peeta. What husband would allow his wife to be friends with a man the whole district knew was in love with her? Our past would mean nothing. He was her best bet to survival, whether the Capital or the Rebels won. Pushing me out of her life was simply ensuring that and was inevitable.

Coin betrayed me to ensure her survival too. Right before squad 451 left District Thirteen she had actually suggested to me that I kill Peeta. If necessary of course, she had emphasized. I knew that they couldn't stand each other but I had actually thought she was worried about Katniss, about protecting the Mockingjay, and thus the Rebellion. Peeta alive certainly wasn't helping the cause at that point. Little did I realize Coin wanted me to do it as to unhinge her. She knew how I felt about Katniss, knew I would protect her against any threat, including Coin if it came to it. She must have thought that my desire to have Katniss would be enough motivation once she had given her permission. I never really understood why she saw Katniss as a huge threat. All Katniss wanted to do was kill Snow and go home where she could hunt in peace. My only regret on this is that I didn't warn Katniss. At the time, I thought it would undermine the Rebellion and we had to win, at any cost. The alternative was unthinkable. Another revolution lost would have meant a Capital regime like Snow's controlling Panem forever. So I kept my suspicions to myself, determined not to let Katniss out of my sight.

I'm sure as soon as it became clear to Coin that I wasn't going to do anything in that regard unless Katniss asked it of me, she devised the plan she ultimately used. There was absolutely no reason to bomb the Presidential Mansion like that. The Rebels were hours from taking it. Sending in Prim was to push Katniss to suicide. Using a weapon I designed to do it was a clear message to me to get my loyalties in line. That is if I even got out alive. What was I going to do? Admit to all of Panem that it was I not the Capital that was responsible for one of the most horrific events of the Rebellion? It was like the old saying, two birds with one stone. Coin would have owned me the rest of my life if she had lived. I'm not sure she doesn't any way. All my hopes and dreams died that day. But dreams are for children and simpletons. I suppose all hope is for the future, that in a generation or two, when the Games and the Rebellion are just a paragraph in a history book, people will be different. The alternative is that I lost everything for absolutely nothing. That's why I try not to think about it too much.

All those hours I spent as a kid, imagining how different things would be if the Capital and all it stood for was gone. Those dreams seem so silly now. Being able to hunt freely, I almost never go hunting anymore. I don't have much time for it. Besides it wasn't the same. Somehow the fact that is was now perfectly legal made it less freeing. Having a family was the last thing I wanted. No more responsibility, no more heart break, I had had enough. I guess there were some dreams that came true. I didn't have to spend my life in the coal mines, working twelve hour shifts for next to nothing, and for that I am eternally grateful. I and everyone I cared about had three meals a day, coats in winter and medicine when they needed it. Being a peacekeeper is a far better fate. Still I loathed it. At first I had taken to the idea. I wanted a role in making Panem a better place. For the most part, it was. Though there was still rationing of certain things, there wasn't the same struggle to scratch up a meal. Still, it seemed more things changed, the more they stayed the same. The people at the top always got more. The people at the bottom still had to do more for less. My life really wasn't my own. I was still slaving away to make other people's lives possible. I took one last pull on the bottle and then settled in for a nap. Knowing Peacekeeper barracks and their lumpy bunks as I do, this might be the best sleep I get in awhile.


	6. Chapter 6

The television turned on, the sound blaring and waking me from a dream. It couldn't have been that good since it was already melting away. I sat up in bed and glanced at the screen. I was living in an apartment designed by the old capital specifically for the head peacekeeper. It wasn't anything special, just a bedroom, a small kitchen and a bathroom. It did however mean that the TV turned on by itself whenever there was something happening in Panem.

"All train transport will be suspended for the next two days. Capital Authorities are investigating the sabotage of tracks and subsequent theft of cargo just outside District 10."

The TV went dark again. "Cap-it-tol A-thor-ray-tays," I repeated, mimicking the annoying newscaster. Great. That meant no food and no meat in particular for at least three days, which meant enforcing ration limits at shops which was near impossible to do here in District Seven since they all had rather irascible temperament.

District Seven was similar to District Two in that it was a collection of villages they called 'camps'. Each camp was responsible for a particular swath of forest and within that swath they moved about so that no one section got completely clear cut. It would take a camp's crew almost ten years to make it through an entire section before they reached their base camp again. Before the Rebellion, about twenty-five peacekeepers traveled with each crew. Apparently getting assigned here was even worse than Twelve. There were train tracks that ran all over District Seven but they all led straight back here at what they call the Pivot, where all the lumber headed out to Panem at large. The Pivot was mostly merchants. There were shops, a school, the justice building, and the train station. That was about it. Most of it had been destroyed during the Rebellion. Having a victor that was part of the Rebellion had meant getting similar treatment as we got in District Twelve. Maybe even worse. Of course the New Capital had come in to help the rebuilding and done so rather quickly since lumber was in high demand everywhere. However a lot of it was done by the people themselves. So buildings ranged from quite beautiful to functional to I can't believe it's actually standing. I could say the same about its people.

District Seven had always been a poor district. Logging is difficult work and easily as dangerous as coal mining. People with missing limbs are not an uncommon sight. Parentless children weren't uncommon either. They were hard people and they hadn't forgotten the past. That was one of the reason no head peacekeeper had last more than a year here since the Rebellion. They didn't like outsiders and didn't like the Capital, old or new. I'd been in here for a little over a month. As far as they were concerned, I too was an outsider and might as well be from the Capital. Being the head peacekeeper in a Podunk district was not quite what I expected. I had spent most of my time trying to beat the troops into shape. I'm not a strictly by the book leader but they were really lax. The public shouldn't be terrified of you but they shouldn't be laughing at you either. And these guys were laughable. Wrinkled and stained uniforms, misplaced weapons, and showing up to work drunk or not showing up at all were just a few problems I had to contend with when I arrived. I like a drink now and then too. But I show up to work and do so sober. By far the worst were the ones taking favors or money in exchange for looking the other way. It wasn't just a little bootlegging or gambling either. It was prostitution. It was drugs. It was groups of young men threatening merchants, intimidating shoppers, and harassing women. The whole district had a blatant disregard for the law. It wasn't just the silly and inconvenient ones flying out of the Capital these days either and it's all out in the open. It made the inhabitants of District Two look absolutely righteous. I have to admit I was shocked.

I had sent a few packing the first day. That hadn't made me any friends, especially since we were now shorthanded. I wasn't there to make friends. At least now there was little doubt about what was unacceptable behavior in a peacekeeper. The new recruits should be ready in couple of months. We would just have to soldier on till then. I did promise them extra pay for all the work and overtime, something I was sure to catch hell for back in the Capital. I was head peacekeeper and it had its perks, but there were limits. But I figured if it meant taking money budgeted for New Panem Day, so be it. It was just a bunch of stupid parades honoring the fall of the Capital any way. New Panem, funny no one calls our country by it official name, except the politicians and people on TV. They had come up with a bunch of holidays. Peacekeepers don't get holidays off so it meant little to me. We still had the Harvest Festival and New Year's Day. Of course there wasn't a Reaping Day but there was Remembrance Day, which fell on the same date and honored the over seventeen hundred dead tributes of the Hunger Games. There was Rebel Day which honored those who lost their life in the Rebellion. Finally there was Day of the Spark, which commemorated the day that Katniss offered Peeta the berries that sparked the Rebellion. I found that one particularly nauseating. I can only imagine how she must loath having a holiday tied to her participation in the games.

I glanced at the clock and realized I might as well get up. I turned on the shower and let the bathroom fill with steam. Terribly wasteful of me I know but I liked it just the same. Back home, bathing consisted of dragging a metal tub near the stove and filling it with pot after pot of hot water. It wasn't so bad if you were first in line but if you were last, the water was lukewarm and dark grey. Once I started working in the mines, I always went last. There wasn't any point in everyone having to soak in my coal crime. I never got really clean anyway. Now I could revel in the Capital's convenience, hot water right out the tap. From what I understand they are now enjoying such things in Twelve as well. They even have fairly reliable electricity. I kind of miss firelight though. It always reminds me of winter's nights especially after a good day of hunting, all of us with full bellies sitting around the hearth. My mom would tell stories about her childhood, mostly about her imaginary friends simply called Them Boys, two boys that did a lot of things my mother got blamed for, or so she claimed. Around the age of eight she stopped talking about them so her mother asked where they were. My mother had replied, "Oh they got reaped." I always thought that was funny.

I ate a piece of toast and contemplated my day. There was a pile of reports and pronouncements from the Capital four inches high sitting on my desk. I was going to have to put an extra man at the train station. I was probably going to have to put a couple more to walk the tracks of the mainline out of the district to look for anything odd or out of place. That was going to take hours, probably the whole day. It also meant less man power in the town. I had planned to make a raid on The Wanigan today. A wanigan is an old logging term for a floating canteen, usually on a lake or river. This one was actually a large covered barge that sat on the lake at the eastern most corner of the Pivot proper. It was a bit like the Hob back home. A lot of trading went on there. There were a couple of food stalls, people selling odds and ends, but the big draw was in the back. It was the place where people went to drink, play dice or cards, and listen to music from something called a jukebox.

All things I could reasonably ignore if it weren't also known for the drugs and sex for sale as well. To complicate matters even more was the fact that The Wanigan was owned and operated by no other than Johanna Mason herself. She'd turned into a real thorn in the New Capital's side. She was a victor and a rebel. There were only four left alive that could claim such an honor, and none of them seemed to be cooperating. Haymitch was well Haymitch. Even if he were inclined to crawl out of his bottle, he wasn't about to spout platitudes for the benefit of New Panem. He was Seam through and through. Bit of a hero mine actually. The Star Crossed Lovers refused to leave District Twelve. For a couple of years they showed 'recreations' of important moments of the Rebellion. Having been there for some of them, I can say almost none of it had anything to do with reality. My favorite was when Coin took The Mockingjay under her wing, counseling Katniss almost like a mother. Absolutely precious. If it bothered them, they didn't show it. Peeta released some brief statement during the elections but I didn't bother to read it.

Johanna Mason was a whole different kind of problem. She had a way of attracting attention to herself. I'm not even sure it's intentional. She goes to the Capital and then coldcocks a photographer for taking her picture. She has to know that's what's going to happen. They followed me in District Two for a while, mainly for a lack of a better subject. They stopped after a few months. Honestly, how many photographs of me eating a sandwich or walking home from work does a nation need? Johanna also had a habit of running her mouth. One thing you can say about people from District Twelve is that we know when to keep quiet. I may have seethed but I seethed in private. I don't even know what she has to complain about. As a victor she gets a pension for life. Perhaps that was the problem. Funny how the Capital didn't make the connection, that if she didn't have the money she couldn't have done half the things they were so upset about. Still I wasn't going to say anything. She had earned that money the hardest way possible. It couldn't begin to make up for what she'd gone through or lost. She could run down the streets of the Capital drunk and naked a million times for all I care. But what was going down at The Wanigan was not only illegal, it was dangerous. It was a problem for the Capital which meant it was a problem for me. That I did care about.

The Capital had gotten wind of it and wanted things cleaned up with as little as little mess as possible. Easier said than done. I could go in, bust a few heads and scare them a bit, but they would be back at in a day or two. The only other option is to arrest them and send them to the Capital for prosecution. That never sits well with me. Once people get sent to the Capital, they don't usually come back. Besides, it was just a matter of time before someone else takes up the trade. There was just too much money to be made. I didn't see an easy or quick fix for this one. But I had to at least look like I was doing my job so The Wanigan was on my list, if not today, then tomorrow


	7. Chapter 7

The smell of roasted pigeon surrounded me as soon as I entered The Wanigan. My stomach growled a bit. I hadn't had anything since noon. I'd spent most of the day with ten of my best men walking the track. It looked all clear. There was little evidence that anybody had been about, just wild dog tracks and some scrub brush. The station seemed to be in order as well. The Capital would be pleased. It was now a little after seven at night. I'd grown accustomed to having three square meals a day. I think back to all the times I went without and wonder if I could still do it. Probably but I wouldn't want to test it. It was scary, getting light headed down in those mines. Being a peacekeeper was not the most popular of professions. Now that every citizen of Panem could legally own a weapon, let's just say I needed to be on my toes. A steady ping of rain began to fall on the tin roof. I pulled my wool cap down a little lower and glanced around. I was dead tired but had decided to head to The Wanigan anyway. I was alone and out of uniform. Word of mouth may be primitive but if I walked in dressed in official garb with a couple of men, word of my arrival would reach the back two minutes before I did. This was the best way to see what was really going on and who was really involved.

I looked over at a collection of stalls about ten feet from the entrance. An armless man worked a pedal that turned a spit on which pigeons roasted. Beside him was a young woman brewing a concoction popular here in District Seven. It was a mixture of very strong coffee and sweetened condensed milk. It's actually quite good but if I had a cup I would be up all night. Next to her, an old woman hunched over a steaming pot, slowly stirring. She reminded me of Greasy Sae. I wonder what she's up to, if she's found some corner of Twelve to open up shop again or if she's still looking after Katniss. She'd make a killing here. I walked over to the guy, nodded toward the spit and held out a couple of coins. He pulled the small golden carcass off, dumped it into a paper tray and handed it to me. I walked while I ate. I worked my way farther in, passing people selling everything from buttons to hunting knives. It was late. Most of them were packing up their wares and heading for home. I could hear music, something distinctly Capital being too fast and all bass, as well as laughter and loud conversation. Light poured from the far end of the barge. Clearly this was where all the action was. I tossed what was left of the pigeon in the trash, wiped my mouth on my sleeve, and headed towards it.

There was a bar made of ply wood to the left, a collection of mismatched tables and chairs to the right. Between them was the juke box. The very back was open and I could see the lake and the dim shadow of the far shore beyond. No one glanced my way. Young girls occupied the chairs. One looked no more than sixteen. A group of men sat at the bar. They were watching a rather short stocky fellow and Johanna take turns throwing a knife into a beam. I knew she was handy with a knife but I was surprised she was so good considering she was so drunk she could barely stand. She leaned back ever so slightly, the knife gripped between her thumb and forefinger. Then in one quick motion, she lunged the upper part of her body forward, propelling the knife and its six inch blade into the center of the beam.

"That's five in a row," she shouted, hopping up and down. "You so owe me Keegan! Hey Burl, how much does Keegan owe my now?" A rather stout man of fifty held up a hand. All but two fingers were missing. The whole room burst into laughter. "Very funny!"

"That's six today which makes seventy-five altogether Jo," Burl replied.

"That's what I thought! Write that down in my book, Burl! Ashe Keegan owes me seventy-five!"

So that was Ashe Keegan. It seemed that most every time something untold was going on in the district, the name Ashe Keegan had come up. Not much to look at. Besides being on the short side, he looked pretty muscular, but then everybody around here has been wielding an axe since about birth, so that didn't mean anything extraordinary. He had small round eyes that remind you of some kind of rodent and a sort mashed in nose. It was his smile that was startling. The corners of his mouth jutted up but that's where the resemblance to a smile ended. It looked more like an angry gash exposing a black void where teeth used to reside.

"You look lonely."

I turned to see a young woman standing beside me. She was no more than twenty. She had a heart shaped face framed by beautiful dark curls. Hazel eyes resided under full lashes. Things I noticed right after her ample chest. I stepped back a couple of inches.

"Do I now?" I asked.

"Yes, lonely and cold," she replied, pouting a little.

"It is a bit chilly," I said. I glanced over to the bar. Johanna was drinking shots of whiskey. Keegan had his beady little eyes trained on me. I turned so my back was to him. I doubted he had recognized me but I couldn't be sure. I gave the girl a smile.

"Let's warm you up then."

"Thanks for the offer but-"

"Turn it up! Turn it up, damn it!" Johanna shouted.

The voice of the Capital announcer, Diane Brookwater, filled the room. "Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen married today in a small ceremony in the newly completed Justice Building in District Twelve."

I wheeled around, my eyes drawn to the TV screen. There she was, looking much like I had left her. A little heavier, the burn scars no longer an angry red, but much the same. Only her eyes, they were no longer filled with contempt. Why should they be? She was looking at him. I wanted turn away but I couldn't. Just like the Games nearly ten years ago, I had to watch, even though it was killing me. Her hair was done in a simple braid. I almost smiled. How many times had I caught a glimpse of that braid as she darted through the forest totally unaware I was following her? I thought of one time in particular and blushed. It had been a complete accident.

It was summer and one of those really hot days where even the pavement is breaking a sweat. My mom had been nagging me for months to fix the screen door which had come off its hinge. I had put it off and when the hot weather came, I paid for it. Instead of spending my Sunday hunting with Katniss, I had to repair the door with my mother standing over me with one of her disapproving looks. The flies circling the kitchen hadn't improved her mood any either. Thankfully it hadn't taken as long as I thought it would. So I decided to head for the woods to see if I could catch up with Katniss in hopes that the day wouldn't be a total loss. I made my way down our usual path, checking snares as I went. They were empty so she had already past that way. After thirty-five minutes I started to get worried. I was well past the point where we usually turned around. I had checked the river to see if she was fishing. I even checked the deer blind. No Katniss. Fear gripped me. There were too many things that could go wrong when you are alone in the woods. She was as tough as they come and strong for her size but she was still just a girl. I thought about the time she twisted her knee. A quiver full of arrows would be no match for a pack of dogs if she was injured. I cursed myself. If I had fixed the damn door when I was supposed to, she wouldn't have been out her by herself. If she was dead it would have been do as much to my laziness as her stubbornness. I took a deep breath to calm myself and back tracked till I could find an obvious sign she was had been there. Finally I found what I was looking for, a few drops of blood on grass. It was tacky which meant it couldn't have been there long. I began to move along the trail, farther into woods than I had ever gone. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why she would do something so stupid. I was hot, thirsty, and alternating between anger and grief.

Then I heard it, a splash. I pushed through the brush and saw a lake shimmering in the distance. I silently inched closer. Katniss broke through the surface. Relief flooded my body, followed by something altogether different when she emerged and pulled herself onto a rock. Every gentle curve shocked me. Katniss. The little brat. The insufferable tag along little girl with a braid. Only she wasn't a little girl anymore. She was a woman, and a very beautiful one at that. I felt my face turn red and I turned away. I liked girls. Plenty of them liked me. I found it amusing more than anything else, the way they flattered me or found reasons to talk to me. This was different. It was something I could barely contain. Part of me wanted to turn back around and watch her. The other part of me wanted to march out there and make her put on her damn clothes. Granted there weren't many in the district that would venture into the woods but we were by no means the only ones. There were two or three I knew of, all men, and not one of them would I trust. How easy it would be for one of them to overtake her, do the unthinkable, and then leave her for dead. Nothing could be done about it, not when she wasn't supposed to be in the woods in the first place. Something like this would never occur to Katniss. She understood the basic principles of predator and prey, but was so innocent in regards to the basest motivation in a man. I knew I should sit her down and explain it to her but I couldn't even begin to image how. This was what mothers were for, or at least I assumed. But Katniss' mother had never ventured past the District's fence herself. She was also from the town. Something like this might not occur to her either. It would have occurred to her father though. She was too young for him to warn her before he died. As I struggled with what to do, Katniss had gotten dressed started back home. I stayed behind. Terrified to leave until I knew without a doubt, she wouldn't hear me. I never told her about that day or what I saw. I never told her I knew about the lake or the little house. If I did, she would see it in my face, that more than brotherly love. Knowing Katniss as I did, she wouldn't understand. So it was a bit of a lie, what I told her about Darius. I was jealous but that wasn't when I knew I loved her. That's how it was with us. It was never what we said. It was what we didn't say that hurt.

Now she was a blushing bride, but I knew that innocent girl that stole my heart that long ago summer afternoon was long gone. Someone had managed to convince her to wear flowers in her hair, white…primrose. The camera pulled back to show a crowd of people cheering as they entered their house in what was Victor's Village. My heart froze. There in the crowd, right up front by Haymitch Abernathy, was my mother, smiling and cheering as loud as anyone. My stomach did a flip, riding that tide of emotion that comes from someone you trusted hurting you in a way you didn't think possible. Suddenly I was very angry. I felt betrayed in the worst way possible, not by Katniss but by my mother. She had to know how painful this would be for me, even after all the time and miles that had been put between Katniss and me. Not only had she not warned me so I wouldn't be sucker-punched in a public place, she beamed like she was mother of the bride herself. I pulled my cap off and walked to the bar. I was no longer listening to what Diane Brookwater was saying. I just watched the footage.

"Whiskey," I said and dropped a coin on the bar. The men stared at me with unease. Johanna gave me a wild sort of grin accompanied by a wink.

"I was wondering when you were gonna get around to coming by," she said. "Looks like your cousin got married. Invitation get lost in the mail?"

I started to say she wasn't my cousin. Suddenly I realized it didn't matter anymore. "Must have," I replied. "Of course she's moved up the social ladder considerably. She was probably worried I'd do something embarrassing like fart during the ceremony."

Johanna burst out laughing. I graced her with a smirk then downed my whiskey. I tapped the bar and Burl poured me another. Four whiskeys later I was throwing a knife into a beam. I could get it to stick but my aim was off.

"Good thing you didn't get reaped! You would have been dead!" Johanna said, laughing.

"Yeah, totally dead," I said. But none the wiser, I thought. That's the last thing I remember of that night.


	8. Chapter 8

Water, or the need of it, woke me. I opened my eyes, sat up, and tried to focus. It took me about ten seconds to realize that I wasn't in my own bed. I didn't have much time to think about it. A wave of nausea hit me. I stumbled, nearly falling as my foot caught on a sheet, but I somehow made it down a hall into a bathroom and just in time. That pigeon and what seemed to be gallon of cheap whisky flew out of me with a velocity that stunned even me. After two minutes of dry heaving, I leaned back against the cold ceramic tub and wagered whether or not I could manage to reach the faucet. That's when I saw her. Or rather I saw her knees. They were rather boney and childish, scraps and scabs upon ancient scars. I found myself smiling despite myself. It reminded me of Katniss, the Katniss before the reaping, before that distance between us, before the war. It was the first thing I'd ever seen that made me feel at something, something akin to happiness. I had seen and sensed a lot in the last few years, things that made me think of home and what I had left behind, but this, this was different. This was her. This was my girl, the girl that fearlessly ruled the woods, the girl I followed into hell. When I looked up, I really expected to see her staring down at me with that incredulous look that said you screwed up, I hated you, but now I forgive you but you really better make it up to me. Instead, I saw Johanna. And it was this moment that could have meant everything and should have and didn't. Of all the sins I have committed in my life, this was the worse and I can say quite honestly that it was without guile or forethought. I frowned. I saw hurt flicker behind those dark brown eyes before receding her cold almost malicious stare.

"You don't look so hot either," she said. It was then I realized we were both naked. I instinctively looked away and tried to cover myself with an old dirty shirt that was lying on the floor.

This wasn't the first time I had woken up in some strange place with a girl I didn't know. It was the only reason why I looked forward to going to the capital. It was easy to find women there, women who really didn't care, women that were only looking for a little fun and a few dollars to see them through the week. Funny how the new Capital could look the other way when it came to keeping their own citizens happy. They were called dumpling girls. There were 'dumpling clubs', restaurants that sold cheap liquor and food. The real draw was the dumpling girls. The girls would appear, scantily dressed, faces painted, and holding a tray of dumplings. The dumplings were a code. What kind you chose denoted what you wanted to do. The number you ordered indicated how much you were willing to pay. A thin skin of rice flour and water surrounding baby carrots and cabbage, delicately shaped into a rose meant the simplest of sexual favors. The better the dumpling, the better the loving, or so they said. Some places took it to an art form, intricate shapes and exotic flavors, the best girls, and the greater the cost. Well beyond my means or tastes. But there were places that catered to Peacekeepers. They were a bit older or not as pretty but just as willing to please.

At first I felt guilty. I would silently watch as the others pick the night's conquest. Of course it wasn't much a conquest when a few coins pretty much meant it was a sure thing. Slowly one by one they disappear into dimly lit rooms smelling of women and a need I could totally comprehend. But I had been raised to think it was supposed to be with someone you loved. The women that did such things back in Twelve were never well thought of even though they did it out of the most desperate need. My mother had an even lower opinion of the men that took advantage of that need. She had told me she would skin me alive if she ever found out I had even thought of doing it. I could have easily but one less squirrel would mean food out of everybody's mouth so I never seriously considered it. But I will admit it occurred to me. Being sixteen and facing the possibility of dying every summer made a lot of things occur to me. But I couldn't do it. I didn't have the nerve. But it was more than that. I knew those girls. I went to school with many of them. I had seen their eyes hungrily latched on the game I had clutched in my hand. I would avert my own gaze and make my way to the Hob or the butcher. Part of me wanted to just give it to them, to just once see eyes light up and know I did that. I made it better. But I never did it. I would always hear my mother's voice in my head, telling me I thought too much of myself, if I thought such things would make a difference. She was right of course. They would only be hungry the next day and the day after that. The best I could do is look out for my own.

Somehow the dumpling girls seemed different. They didn't have that despairing look about them. Their faces weren't wracked by hunger. Their eyes weren't lifeless. They had full bodies of healthy women. Their eyes shone with a secret I wanted to know. At worse, they seemed more bored than anything. I was probably kidding myself. They probably weren't enjoying it. I wasn't really enjoying it. It wasn't the anxious kisses stolen by the slag heap. It wasn't the desperate hope that I felt when I was near Katniss. It was just a base fact. I was a man and I had to do what men were destined to do. The first time I was awkward, too quick, and boyish. I actually called her ma'am. That's when the guys started calling me the rube. Of course I had no idea what it meant. When I finally had the opportunity to look it up, I had to laugh. It was true. I was backwards, coarse, and incredibly naïve to the ways of the world. My whole life had been focused on one thing, survival. Back then sex was something that couldn't be completely enjoyed by even a husband and wife, not when any child offered twice as much possibility of heartbreak as hope. Now there was all the hope in the world, if you could afford it.

Johanna wasn't Katniss but I didn't think of her like she was a dumpling girl. I don't know what I thought of her. She was unlike any girl I'd ever known. She wasn't one of the silly giggling girls of the school yard. Outside of them, I only knew Katniss. I never knew what was on her mind unless she was scared or angry with me. A few times I knew she was happy. Always beyond the fence, usually in the woods, she would get this serene look with just start of a smile on her lips. I'd ask her what she was thinking. She always said nothing. One time I challenged her. "Then why the goofy smile Catnip?" I asked. She got mad and stormed back towards home. She could be a real pain. Granted I probably shouldn't have said goofy but she was barely fifteen at the time. I wasn't going to say sexy was I? While Katniss was some sort of puzzle I had to figure out, no one could ever doubt what was on Johanna's mind. Mainly because she let you know before you even asked. She was loud, opinionated, and often crude. Frankly she reminded me of a guy. Not exactly what I would look for in a wife even if I was looking.

"Do you even remember last night?" she asked.

"Um, well, some of it," I replied.

"What do you remember?" she asked.

"Throwing knives."

"You can't hold your liquor!"

"I can! That stuff is stronger! Besides I hadn't eaten much."

"I understand. Haymitch could never hold his liquor either. Must be something in that Seam blood."

I was about to argue but I suddenly had that urge to vomit. I turned and started retching again. When I sat up, Johanna was holding out a grimy glass of water. I happily drank it.

"Now if you're done, I need to use the bathroom."

"Oh sure."

I got up, keeping the shirt strategically placed and backed out of the bathroom. I could tell Johanna thought it was funny. I didn't care. I wasn't sure what had happened between us the night before but I had an idea. I very briefly thought about asking her but it was too embarrassing. I hunted around her room for my clothes. I found everything but my socks. I quickly got dressed and pulled on my boots. I had planned an equally quick exit but as I slinked past the bathroom I spied Johanna through the crack in the door. Her head was tilted back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. There was a needle in her arm.

I pushed into the bathroom. I knew what she had done. I'd heard and seen enough to know. But I didn't know what to do. Whenever I had come across such a sight in Two, the person was already dead. There was nothing to do but some paperwork.

"Johanna!" I shouted. She didn't move. I knelt. I took the needle out of her arm and a small drop of blood appeared. I reached over and touched her neck and felt for a pulse. She had one, slow but steady. I called her name a couple of times and shook her. She slumped forward. I looked over at the bathtub. I turned the cold water on full blast, then picked up Johanna and dumped her into the filling tub. It took about forty seconds but she was soon screaming bloody murder and a stream of curses. She leaped up and slapped me across the face. She's stronger than she looks.

"Well excuse me for trying to save your life," I snapped, rubbing my cheek.

"I wasn't dying you idiot! Damn you! You ruined my high!" she screeched.

"Your high? I can't believe you! You make it through the arena and you are going to kill yourself with that crap? If you don't have any respect for your own life, how about for the twenty-three kids that died so you could live?" I asked angrily.

"What do you know about it? You were never reaped!" she screamed.

That made me mad. It was what Katniss would say that last year back in Twelve. I didn't understand. I had never been reaped. Just because I hadn't didn't mean that I didn't understand what it meant. I had had eighteen years and forty-two entries to consider what that meant. I had been scared every time and not just for myself. Watching Katniss go through it felt worse than actually going through it myself. It was the height of the powerlessness. Something I hadn't felt so keenly since my father had died. To watch a person you love in danger and to be able to nothing about it was torture.

"Yeah? Well if I had been, you can bet I wouldn't have won it the underhanded way you did," I shouted back. My ability to say horrible things without thinking when I am angry had once again reared its ugly head. What little color was in her face drained away. I felt horrible. I knew she played it the best way she could. She was smart not to make herself a target. I would have probably done anything to stay alive as well. Only I couldn't find the words for it. Shame has a way of making me tongue tied.

"Get out!" she said in a deadly cool whisper.

"Look, I can get you help. People have kicked this," I said.

"Get out! Now, damn it!"

I didn't want to leave her like that. I still wasn't sure she was alright. But the look in her eyes told me that if I valued my manhood, I'd better leave. Everybody in Panem knows what Johanna Mason can do with a knife.

I avoided the Wannigan. I sent a patrol just to turn up the heat. I had a job to do after all. But I kept my distance. I couldn't face her. Not after what had happened between us. She wasn't a dumpling girl. She was still a small part of my past. A small sliver of it, but enough to remind me of the cost of being of the golden generation, the last to face reapings. There wasn't one of us that didn't have some scar but she was a Victor. She had been tortured by the Capital after they had broken Katniss out of the arena. I really was a heartless bastard. It just took a woman to hold up the mirror and show me myself. I had figured she would never want to see me again either so I was shocked when she showed up at my door one morning. At a loss as to what to say, I simply invited her inside. As always, she was blunt.

"I am pregnant."

And there it was. And just as if I had been reaped, I accepted it. My fate.

"I'll marry you."

"No," she said.

"Then what?" I asked. She started to cry. I sat her down on the couch and awkwardly pulled her to me. I wrapped my arms around her and did something I have grown accustomed to, I lied.

"It will be okay. It might just be the thing we need," I said.

"You're out of your freaking mind," Johanna said between gulps of air.

"Probably. But why change now?" I asked. And she started to laugh. A golden moment and I really started to believe, maybe I could find it. That thing I lost in pool of flames in the capital eight years ago. Katniss had no need of me. But Johanna did. I could save her. I could fix it. "One thing for sure, she'll be the most ill-tempered child in the district."

"What makes you think it's a girl?" she asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I can hope can't I?" I asked. I thought of Posy. I thought of the possibility of something so good coming from my failure. It was possible. And the first thing I would do was get her a cake. And chocolate. I would teach her that castles in the clouds or pink dreams are fine but a bit of happiness could happen on this green earth.

"No. It's a boy," she said. She placed a hand on her belly and smiled. "We'll name him Jack."

"Jack?"

"That was my little brother's name," she said. Her eyes clouded over and she pulled away from me. "He was only eight. When I won."

Big fat tears rolled down her face. I pulled her to me and caught one on my thumb. It sat there, perfect. We both looked at it. "Then Jack it is," I said. We owed it to them. Posy, Jack, Prim.

Johanna pushed me away and glared at me. "This is a mistake! I'm going to the capital. I shouldn't have even told you."

"Jo, it's not a mistake. A surprise, yeah. And after all is said and done, what did we do it for if not this? Why did you fight to stay alive in the arena? Why did we fight a war, one we could have very easily have lost, if not for a possibility just like this baby?" I asked.

"I'll be a miserable mother," she sniffed.

"Naw, you won't. You'll be like a mother bear, fierce. But you got to promise me no more of that stuff," I said.

"It's not that easy," she said.

"Nothing worth it ever is," I said.

"You are still in love with her," she said.

"I'm in love with an idea, an idea that doesn't exist. It doesn't matter any way. She never loved me and never will."

"You don't love me either."

"I don't know that. I love you as much as I love anybody."

"That I believe…you and I are alike that way."

"We are alike in other ways to," I said. "We have both lost people we loved. So we are capable of it. So, if you aren't busy tomorrow, we can go to the justice building."

"Justice building?" Johanna asked. She pulled away and looked at me. "Oh no! We are going to the Capital. We'll have a big wedding and it will be seen all over Panem!"

My mouth dropped open. That was the absolutely last thing I wanted. Something simple, that's what I had in mind. The most I thought of putting into it was wearing my dress uniform. Then I saw the glint in Johanna's eye. "Oooh you had me going!" I said and we both laughed. I reached into my back pocket and then handed her my handkerchief. "Here, blow your nose. I can't kiss you if you are all snotty."


	9. Chapter 9

I took off early from work and met Johanna at the Justice Building at four o'clock. It was right before they closed which I figured would keep it from becoming a big deal. The last thing I wanted was a big deal. It wasn't like the magnitude of the thing was lost on me. I took marriage seriously but getting married even for those of us in outlying districts had taken on a Capital flavor. Now every girl wanted a fancy dress and a big party. Of course what constituted a fancy dress and big party was a far cry from what I had seen in the Capital. A fancy dress was something made from fabric that was at least a month's wages and a big party meant a bakery cake and a bottle of wine if you could get it, which you usually couldn't. Even so, I didn't see how any of those things ensured love and happiness. It was a lot of nonsense and money for nothing if you asked me. I guess I was lucky that Johanna didn't seem to really care either. Of course we were both still shocked to find ourselves getting married at all. I wavered between convincing myself it was the best thing that could have happened to me and knowing it was the biggest mistake I'd ever make. I did however get a haircut that morning and I wore a freshly pressed uniform. I actually got up two hours early and ironed it myself. Johanna seemed to like it. At least her self-satisfied smile indicated so. She cleaned up pretty well herself. She wore a simple dress, white with tiny blue flowers and an Empire waist, or at least that's how they described it. She looked pretty, that I know. And she smelled good. I'm sure we looked pretty awkward. She had dragged Burl from the Wanigan to be her witness. I used the presiding judge's secretary, Miss Beech. We said our 'I do's', signed the papers, and shook the judge's hand. That was it. There was a bit of a weight on my heart, not having any family or friend to stand with me but Johanna was happy and I was determined to be so too. I thought we would go to the Wanigan and have a drink to celebrate but when we left the Justice Building, the entrance was crawling with photographers.

"How did they find out so fast?" I asked Johanna in disbelief.

"They have spies everywhere. You didn't really think things have changed that much did you?" she asked. We nixed the Wanigan idea and went straight to Johanna's house. The commotion made Johanna nervous. She ended up throwing up most of the night. I made her some tea and then we went to sleep. I didn't think about toasting bread until the next morning. It didn't matter. It was just a silly tradition and it wouldn't have meant anything to Johanna any way. It was strange, waking up next to someone after eight years. It took me back to that sad little house on the edge of the seam. The window that could never completely close, the roof that leaked, Vick's cold feet pressed against my back. Only now it was Jo's feet and it was our house. Our house. I had never owned anything except the clothes on my back. None of it really felt like it was mine. I hadn't earned it. Johanna had. As long as she was alive, it was hers. The laws had changed though. When she was gone, it would belong to our child. Or children. I smiled at the thought. Why not? I'd have a dozen if I could feed them. Twelve bundles of hope and dreams. Well two at least. One of each. Of course it was up to Jo. She still looked a bit pale, lying there so still, asleep and curled up so tight. I slipped out of bed and let her sleep.

When I left for work, a hornet's nest awaited me. Or should I say jacker's nest since the press seemed just as tenacious in following me. They were outside the front door. They trailed after me through town and all the way to the garrison, shouting questions at me the entire way. Once there, the cameras were now replaced with a TV crew. Reporters continued to shout questions at me as I waded through the mob towards the door. I only answered one because it was so personal and stupid, I couldn't bite my tongue.

"How was the wedding night?" he asked.

"Are you married?" I asked.

"Yes," he said with a dirty little laugh.

"And you still need me to explain it?" I asked. Everybody laughed. I took the opportunity to escape inside. It wasn't much better. The entire force seemed to be there. They all cheered and clapped. My second in command, Clem, slapped me on the back.

"We all chipped in and got you this," he said, and handed me a bottle of aspirin. "We figured considering the bride, you would need it!" Everybody laughed.

"Funny! Okay, get back to work. Crime doesn't stop just because I got married," I said. They dispersed. They knew me well enough by now to know I didn't like this kind of attention. Clem remained behind.

"Oh you have a lot of messages. About twenty from the capital. But most are from your mother. She sounded kind of mad," he said.

"Thanks. Do me a favor. Tell those idiots out front to move on will you?" I asked.

"Really?"

"Escort them to the train station if you have to, just get them out of here."

My mother. I wasn't looking forward to that conversation. I put it off. I had to deal with the Capital any way. They were less than thrilled with the marriage and particularly upset they hadn't been informed a head of time. I hadn't realized how important the Capital still considered the remaining victors to be. Of course they no longer exerted the same kind of control but the tone of District Seven senator Clive Miller indicated that the Capital still felt they owned them in some way. A chill ran through me when he said, "Of course we all want what's best for Johanna."

"And that would be what?" I asked.

"Why a happy home and a healthy child, of course," he said. I don't know how he knew about the baby. I certainly hadn't told anybody. I didn't think Johanna had told anybody other than me but I couldn't be sure. I thought of asking him just how and the hell he knew but it was probably not a good idea. Besides, Clive Miller wasn't the kind of guy that let you interrupt him. "Panem honors Johanna's past sacrifice and honors your continued service. You were quite a hero during the war, weren't you?"

"I don't know about that. We all did what we had to."

I never liked to talk about the war. I liked talking about my part even less. Even if it weren't for what happened in the Capital, I wouldn't want to talk about it. It was something that had to happen, a fight that had to be fought. The hero thing is just a bunch of horseshit. It was all the people who fought before they had any help from District Thirteen that were the heroes. Those that rebelled in Eleven, in Four, long before the Quarter Quell. Those nameless dead, forgotten for the most part, they were heroes. If I were really a hero, I would have done something long before Prim's name was ever drawn.

"But you were right there up to the end, cleaning up District Two. And the final siege at the Capital. You survived the destruction! I've read the reports. Such a terrible thing, another dark mark in history. What people will do to achieve their own means. A weighty legacy to bear."

I wasn't sure what the good senator was playing at but I was very sure I didn't like it. There was nothing he could have on me that wouldn't bring down more important people as well. Plutarch Heavensbee still controlled the majority of the media in Panem. A few districts had something called broadcast radio. It was an old technology but was growing in popularity. But if I knew Heavensbee, he had his sweaty paws on that too. Beetee was head of the Department of Technology, of which no small part was weaponry. They couldn't afford to lose him nor could he afford to be tied to the massacre at the Capital. After the Rebellion most of District Two wanted my head. There were still plenty of well-trained fighters in Two at the time and Paylor would have loved nothing more than to placate them and woo them over to her side. I have no doubt that the only reason they hadn't served me up on a silver platter was because of what I knew. I also knew staying alive depended on me knowing my place and keeping my mouth shut. I wasn't like I needed to be reminded. Besides, I wasn't the one that gave orders back then. I wasn't even that good at following them. Those decisions were made by others. I had told the truth when I was questioned at the time. I didn't know if it was our side or not, but more than likely it was. They weren't really all that interested in the truth any way. All they cared about was divvying up power and tying up loose ends. But this was their game and they could be almost as paranoid as Snow. A nice job in Two was to ensure my silence. Then it dawned on me. I no longer had the nice job and I had just married one of the few remaining Victors. Of course I had some master plan! Every smart ambitious man did. Clive Miller was calling to scope out the situation and determine just what kind of problem I was going to be. Only I never thought that way and I had never been that ambitious. It was funny, funny and frightening at the same time.

"Yes, well both Johanna and I grateful for your concern," I said. "We felt given the recent security concerns in District Ten and the on-going rationing even in the capital, that to make it an event would be both insensitive and expensive." I could barely keep the glee from seeping into my voice. I knew politics well enough.

"Yes, very considerate of you both," Senator Miller replied now openly sarcastic. It wasn't like he could fire me. It would be all over Panem in hours. Frankly I didn't care if he could. "And of course traveling while with child isn't advisable. We will all miss Johanna at this year's Remembrance Day in the Capital."

Again, fine by me. As far as I was concerned, Jo was never stepping foot in the Capital again. She got into nothing but trouble there. Still I wasn't going to commit to anything nor was I going to acknowledge she was pregnant. "Well Senator, this is a big District as you know and I've got a lot of work to get done, so if there isn't anything else."

"Just congratulations."

"Thanks."

I hung up the phone and stared of the map of the District that hung on the wall. I shook my head and sighed. I was going to have to have a little talk with Jo when I got home. The call so irked me, I completely forgot about my mom. I forgot the next day too. I wasn't used to living with someone anymore. Jo wasn't either. We were getting on each other's nerves. One minute she was screaming at me, the next she was crying. Then she would get so affectionate, I would literally have to peel her off me. It didn't help that she was so sick. If she wasn't vomiting, she was shaking. She was constantly complaining that it was too cold but the house was like an oven. Granted it was a long time ago but I don't remember my mother being like this. It had to be the morphling withdrawal. I had searched the entire house when she was asleep and got rid of all I had found. But Jo was clever and this was her house. There were most likely hiding places I knew nothing about. I wanted to get someone to stay with her while I was at work but she had a fit when I suggested it. "I won't be spied on," she had screamed at me. She wasn't far off. I did have a peacekeeper down at the Wanigan all day, just in case she decided to go down there. So far she hadn't. At least the cameras had finally left.

It was a week later that Jo called me at work.

"You have to come home now!"

"I can't. I have work."

"Now."

"Can't it wait four hours?" I asked.

"No!"

"Why don't you call Burl?"

"Because Burl's mother isn't in my kitchen. NOW!"

She hung up. I stared at the phone. It took a moment to make sense. Oh crap. I put my head in my hands and grimaced. I hadn't called her. I had meant to of course but I was already overwhelmed. One was bad enough. Two of them, I started to wish I had some morphling. Women, why does it always come down to them?


	10. Chapter 10

I can't say I hurried home. All those cameras were looking better by the second. I'd rather face a hundred of them instead of my mother. Don't get me wrong. I still love my mother. I always will. But if life has taught me anything, it is that love only goes so far. My mom has three expressions, pleading, doubt, and dismay. Ever since I was old enough to remember, she was wearing one of the three, at least when she was looking at me. I had a pretty good idea which one she was currently bearing. I was in no mood for dismay. To be honest, I'm not sure I have the patience for her any longer. Yeah, maybe I'm being too hard on her. I guess we are pretty hard on each other. That's precisely why I wasn't looking forward to seeing her. I still couldn't believe she had come all the way from Twelve. It was a long trip and expensive. My mother and an angry Johanna, well I almost didn't go home at all. But I managed to even if it was two hours later.

I quietly opened the door. I smelled food cooking, something good. My stomach growled. Johanna isn't much of a cook. I choked down a couple of her meals then diplomatically decided she shouldn't be on her feet so much. We ate peanut butter sandwiches mostly. I'm not much of a cook either. I can roast meat. I can fry an egg. That's about it. Eggs and fresh meat are scarce. Hunting was out of the question. I didn't have the time for it. I was bound to be rusty any way. I hadn't really used a bow and arrow since the war. Besides the smell of food cooking made Jo sick. We were both getting pretty sick of peanut butter though. Now our kitchen was full of the smells of a good meal. I had to admit I liked it. I hadn't had real home cooking in years. I guess if there's an upside to this situation, dinner would be it.

I crept into the kitchen. Jo was sitting at the kitchen table with a grim look on her face. At least she wasn't in the bathroom retching. Then again, maybe it would be better if she was. My mother was at the sink, washing dishes. She had been at it. I had never seen the kitchen so clean. She had even taken down the curtains to wash them. No wonder Jo was so pissed. She didn't like people in her space. I swear she only tolerates me, which is understandable since she has been living by herself far longer than I have. The house was a good size but she was used to doing things her way. She didn't like me leaving my boots by the bed. She liked the windows closed when she slept, I liked them open. She got angry if I moved anything. I like things to be neat and orderly so I can find stuff. She leaves things wherever they drop. We bickered a lot. We both had a lot to get used. Somehow I doubted adding my mom to the mix would make it any easier, especially since my mother looked at a tidy kitchen as a sort of virtue. Jo glanced over and saw me. Her eyes narrowed. She looked like she was ready to launch one her knives into the middle of my forehead, so much so that I had suppress the instinct to duck.

"Well look who is finally here!" Jo said, her voice carrying a false cheer to it. "Look ma, your boy is home."

My mother turned around and our eyes met. Her face was fuller than I remember. Her hair was more gray than black but her eyes were as always. I felt emotion rise to my throat but I pushed it back. I thought back to the day my father died and how I had to wait for the news. It felt like that, like something we lost between us that neither wanted to say aloud.

"Mom…I…that's a long trip. You didn't have to," I said.

"Didn't I?" she asked. Her voice had an edge to it, a mixture of hurt and anger. And there it was, dismay. I immediately felt guilty and I hate it. Guilt is such a pointless emotion. You can't change what's done. I know that better than anyone. Still I felt it. I should have called her and told her. She shouldn't have had to hear her son had gotten married from a news broadcast. I had been spiteful because she hadn't warned me about Katniss. Of course I never wanted to hear news of her or District Twelve so I couldn't really blame my mother but somehow I did. The funny thing was I wasn't really aware that was what I was doing until I saw her standing there.

"I guess I deserve that," I replied and sighed. My mom gave one of her disapproving sounds but crossed the room and hugged me. I looked over the top of her head and saw Jo. She looked so alone at the table. My heart hurt just seeing her. I pulled away from my mother and gave a faint smile. "You remember Johanna, don't you?"

"I do," Mom replied. "She loves beef stew if memory serves."

My eyes widened. I sniffed the savory aroma that filled the room. "Where did you get beef?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"I have my ways," she said smiling. "It's a wedding present for Johanna from Haymitch."

"You are very lucky they didn't check your bag. There are shortages. Bringing food in from another district without a permit is against the law," I said.

"So arrest me. Since when did you object to a little rule bending if it meant a good meal?" she asked, moving back towards the stove. I didn't have a good answer to that. I watched Jo play with the corner of a placemat. Might as well get it over with.

"You're gonna be a grandmother."

"I figured as much," my mother said in her perfected I-saw-you-take-that-extra-piece-of-bread-now put-it-back tone. It was sufficient to chastise when I was thirteen but hadn't been too effective since I was sixteen. But now I felt my face grow red and it made me angry. I'm a grown man damn it. If I want to take an extra piece of bread, or get married, for whatever reason, I will. "Sit down," my mother said. "Stew's almost ready."

I sat down next to Jo. She glared at me then shrank back into her chair. I put my arm around her, leaned in and whispered in her ear, "I can make her leave if you want." She shook her head. "You want that stew don't you?" She could barely conceal a grin. "Me too." I kissed her cheek.

Suddenly I felt silly, awkward and childish. It was like my mom had come into find us playing house and was going along with the game. I had been a man since I was fourteen, or at least I had all the responsibilities and worries of one. I made most of the decisions. I decided if we could afford shoes for Rory. I decided that Posy could wear Vick's old pants instead of getting fabric for a dress. I was the one that decided Rory had to take out tessera so we could eat. Yet now, at nearly twenty-seven years of age, I felt like a kid and a foolish one at that.

"I have some news myself," my mother said, placing steaming bowls in front of me and Jo. I grabbed a biscuit in one hand and a spoon in the other. I shoveled a piece of carrot and beef covered with a thick gravy into my mouth. I quickly followed it with a bite of biscuit. I looked up at my mother. She sat down across from me. I swallowed.

"Yeah?" I asked and started to scoop another spoonful out of the bowl. I'm not one that thinks food and conversation go together well. I think when you grow up hungry you should give food the honor and attention it rightfully deserves. My mom knows this. So I didn't really pay attention to what she was saying. I would have stayed in blissful ignorance if not for a sharp elbow in the ribs from Jo. I looked over to see her smirking.

"Your mother is talking to you," Johanna said.

"Okay, I'm listening," I replied and reached for another biscuit.

"I'm getting married," my mom said. It sort of hung there, like nonsense words from a small child. I stopped and looked at her.

"What?"

"I said I'm getting married."

I started to laugh. My mother married my father right out of school. She had been a widow almost as long as she had been a wife. I had never once seen her look at another man nor had any man looked at her. She wasn't ugly but four kids didn't make her very attractive. "Very funny," I said, and dunked the rest of the biscuit into the bowl.

"It may be funny but it's the truth," my mother said. I looked her in the eye. She was serious. I dropped my spoon into the bowl.

"To who?"

"To Haymitch Abernathy."

"Over my dead body, you will!"

My mother pursed her lips. She straightened up and squared her shoulders. "I don't see how you have a say in it."

"He's a no good drunk!" I cried.

"Why shouldn't she marry him?" Jo asked. "And watch what you say Gale. Haymitch has good reasons for drinking. He's a good guy under it all. And I don't see how it's your business any way."

"I can think of a hundred reasons why she shouldn't!" I said angrily. I turned back to my mom. "Is it money? Is that it?"

"No, it isn't money," my mother replied angrily. She sat back and collected herself. I got the feeling she had planned this conversation, practiced it even. "I'm nearly an old woman Gale. You boys are grown and starting families of your own. I need something to keep me busy, give me purpose."

"If you call collecting liquor bottles purpose," I said. "You'll be nothing but a glorified housekeeper."

"I won't and I'm not!" my mom said, her chin jutting up in defiance. "I've known Haymitch longer than either one of you. I grew up two doors down from him. I remember when he was reaped. I remember what happened after. I know what he is like and why. I can live with that."

"What do Rory and Vick think about all this?" I asked.

"You kids think my life begins and ends with you! Well it doesn't! I've done my part, been the best mother I could. Now I am thinking of myself! I need somebody my own age, someone who knows what I know, remembers what I remember. I found that. So that's the end of that, damn it!"

Swearing. She was serious. I tried to imagine it, my mother in love with Haymitch. I shuddered at the thought. I shoved my bowl of stew away. It took a lot for me to lose my appetite. In fact it was the first time I could recollect.

"Eating for two," Jo said, sliding it over. I shot her a dirty look. She just shrugged and started shoveling it into her mouth.

"Well if I don't have a say in it, I don't know why you bothered telling me at all!" I said.

"Because I," she replied coolly, "thought I owed you the courtesy." With that, she began eating.

"Oh quit pouting," Jo said as we got ready for bed. I was still mad and no amount of beef stew was going to change that, like I didn't have enough to worry about without Haymitch Abernathy and my mom.

"I'm not pouting!" I snapped, pulling off one boot, then the other. I lined them up by the end of my side of the bed. To hell with Jo. She's my wife and she should have taken my side.

"Oh I forgot," Jo snickered. "Women pout, men scowl!"

I stood up and shucked my pants. "You know," I said as I folded them, "this may be your house, but you are my wife."

"So what?" Jo asked, the closed the window with a bang.

"So you should have taken my side!"

"Oh hell, you know you sound just like a girl!" Jo cried. "Didn't you ever hang out with guys growing up? Or did you spend all your time with that simpering goody-goody?"

I felt my face grow red. There was an unspoken agreement between us, she didn't mention Katniss and I ignored the picture of Finnick in her underwear drawer. We had both lost what we loved and had no hope of getting it back. We conned ourselves with words like fate, timing, and mistake, both of us knowing that if we could go back, changing one moment and the next, saying the right thing, making the right choice, we would still end up on the wrong side of the equation. It was the inexplicable thread that drew us to each other. The baby was still something imagined, a promise yet to be kept. Hurt, deep and lasting, it was all we had to base a marriage on. I walked over to the window and threw it open, with a little too much force apparently because it came back down, smashing my fingers. I swore in pain, shaking my right hand before bring it to my mouth and tasting blood. I left the window closed and crawled into bed in defeat. I remember when I actually dared to dream of being an adult and how even in that dark existence what I dared to dream was so much better than what I ended up.


End file.
